Death of Love
by Elexandros
Summary: Edmund mourns his loss. Much angst.Warning: This is a deathfic and implies PE slash.


**Disclaimer**: If I owned them, I think I'd be a lot happier right now. But I don't. So I kill 'em.

**Warnings**: Slash implied! If'n you don't likie, no readie. Or readie. But no flames.

**Summary**: Edmund mourns his own loss.

Death of Love

Edmund is in Peter's room, crying on a bed that isn't his. He's watching his older brother sleep, holding his hand, watching him toss and turn, shivering and sweating, coughing and gasping. The doctor's say it's some rare blight, probably brought in by the diplomats from the tropical Lone Islands. But they don't know for sure what this sickness is, nor do they really know how to treat it. By now, they said, the best thing to do is just sit tight and wait for the fever to break. Edmund isn't good at waiting, though, and watching his noble brother suffer through days and days of this have taken its toll on him as well, and so he cries. But he isn't crying for Peter. No, he's selfishly crying for himself because if anything happens to Peter, Edmund's afraid he'd shatter.

Edmund is in a small dark room, wearing a brave face that isn't really his. In here it's grey and bleak and there's only one small window, letting in a stream of dying moonlight. He's still watching his brother, he's still holding his hand. Peter's no longer tossing and turning, or fighting to breathe, or suffering through endless nights of torment. But he's not smiling either, or laughing, or telling Edmund that he's fine and everything will be all right. His golden hair's gone dull, his skin's cold and waxy to the touch, but worst of all, those clear blue eyes, last time Edmund saw them, had gone cloudy. Now, they were shut, and the world would never see their brilliance again. Worst of all, Edmund already couldn't recall their exact color anymore.

Edmund is standing over a magnificent grave, speaking a too-strong voice that no longer sounds like his. Peter's now somewhere far below his feet and Edmund would give anything to crawl down and join him. But instead he speaks hollow words of his brother's victories, of his achievements, and his love. When he gets to this last part, his voice finally breaks and he crashes to his knees. He feels as though he'll over-flow, that his very being is going to just seep out of him, because this grief is too big for one body to bear. Susan and Lucy collapse down next to him, hugging him and shedding pearly tears of their own. They cry for the loss of a brother, but Edmund cries for the loss of love. No one here really knows love is for him. Because to Edmund, love and Peter were one and the same.

Edmund is in the Great Hall, sitting in a throne that isn't his. He isn't listening to the diplomats infront of him; rather, he's staring at the four standards hanging from the ceiling, studying them. One has three silvers stars against a field of sunny gold, another a gilded bow and arrow on a scope of green. The third is royal blue, decorated with a brilliant silver eagle, caught in mid-rear. The fourth, where once was a gilded lion rampant on a blood-red field, now hung simple banner of muted black. How long it would remain, Edmund did not know. Nor did he know if it would be replaced by the old standard, if anything at all. The new High King didn't think he could bear either; not this banner, nor his brother's, for they would just be a reminder. Not of the life that once was, but of that which Edmund had lost.

Edmund is in Peter's room, crying on a bed that isn't his. He had locked the room up himself a week ago, but now he's inside, clenching his fists in sheets that still smell of Peter. A Peter that's gone, a Peter that Edmund loved. But a brother wasn't supposed to love a brother like that, and Edmund remembered once being told that horrible things would happen if they did. So Edmund cries, shattered, because he loved Peter and now Peter's dead because of him.

**A/N**: I'm getting rather frustrated at this seemingly fruitless summer job search, so I figured I'd kill Peter. (Oo) Sorry for the angst. And for the bad title…I just sorta chunked this thing out, and needed to name it _something_. Also, I appologize for the weird double-spacing. This thing is being ANNOYING again... cough Anyway, reviews are much loved!

P.S.: A Nugget of Wisdom from Elexandros: You can't eat banana slices with chopsticks.


End file.
